


It’s a dirty dirty game but (you should’ve called before you came)

by s_t_c_s



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Beth & Rio's disastrous friendship, Beth and Rio have several conversations!, Beth is medically allergic to expressions of emotion, Beth's also not very good at casual sex, Beth's not very good at masturbating, Beth/OFC, Bisexual Beth Boland, But she's great in bed, Competitive Nonsense, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, FUCKING NERDS, Fuckbuddies, Idiots, Mentions of Gun Violence, Paranoia, Rio/OFC, but trash conversations for garbage loons, extremely poor decision making skills, fantasies, fart jokes, kind of a vibe of voyeuristic/exhibitionist tendencies, mentions of past beth/dean but mostly in terms of dean being TRASH, rivals to disasters, some implied Beth/OMC too, someone sounds a little like they have a foot fetish, worst selves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24074866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_t_c_s/pseuds/s_t_c_s
Summary: Set some while after s3 (and after Beth and Dean's divorce). Beth and Rio both have a fuckbuddy (and no, it's not each other).Also: Rio has a BAR, and Beth likes DRINKING. A SOLID basis for a TERRIBLE friendship if ever I heard one.Things go possibly even more disastrously than you'd expect!
Relationships: Beth Boland & Rio, Beth Boland/Original Character(s), Beth Boland/Rio, Rio/Original Character(s)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 101





	It’s a dirty dirty game but (you should’ve called before you came)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [medievalraven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/medievalraven/gifts).



> All right, well there's a lot of Beth/OFC and some implied Beth/OMC (and also Rio/OFC, but this is Beth's POV). So if that's a no for you, I can't imagine you'd enjoy this.
> 
> A lot of Beth and Rio's behaviour here is reprehensible (I mean yea it is generally, but this is Up A Notch) and at least borderline predatory. Worst selves probably doesn't begin to cover it tbh! There's explicit content and Extremely poor decision making skills. 
> 
> Mm, there's some light biphobia, in the form of the opinions Beth ascribes to/externalises as held by other people. 
> 
> There's some light bondage at one point (which doesn't involve Rio, because he's boring).

It’s not like Beth hadn’t _known_. And it wasn’t even really a secret. She’d never hidden the fact – not exactly. That truth just couldn’t seem to matter much, amidst the Dean of it all. So, yes, she’s not ever said the words out loud. But there are a _lot_ of things Beth didn’t speak; she finds that denying them voice hasn't made them any less true – in the end.

There’s an artless joke she used to crack, back when she was young; barely roughened – still owned happy hopes of securely-mapped forever, spangled belief at the predictable shape of the future. Her line about being Deansexual. It always caused _Dean_ to smile, goofy, suggesting he didn’t think he deserved her, but wasn’t totally surprised to be rewarded by his prize nonetheless. Ruby though, she got that pinch to her eyebrows, hinting at the place wither and concern meet. It was Annie, once she was old enough – almost, anyhow – who forced a stop to it. Dragged Beth to buy her original, terrible, vibrator round about then too.

Perhaps it’s funny, how Beth never particularly cared that she wasn’t Dean’s first. That made her feel mature, as a teen, her lack of commonplace jealousy for the data, their imbalance. As if she were a sophisticated character in a sitcom, one based in New York or Seattle, any city people actually wanted to live. Looking back, she wonders if maybe an absence of possessive interest over Dean was a sign.

It all daubs as so distant now. Everything’s deeply _different_. Her marriage was punctured, exploded almost entirely, in a fell moment, then somehow stuttered on – dripping sourness far too long, like one of those lemon lava cakes she never seems to have the time to bake these days. Eventually the remains were disposed of.

It’s not _just_ that she’s divorced, though the official severing has certainly helped. Having sex with someone, _anyone_ , other than Dean – that’s what changed things.

She’s not _quite_ told Annie and Ruby. But Beth has been – increasing the signalling. An easy, “Ooh, she’s gorgeous!” during a movie; a quiet – _respectful_ – whistle when the ridiculously hot, and extremely bitchy, new PTA mom wanders into the park, and the three of them settle in to observe her snobby children’s awful antics. Those acts normally earn Beth a slightly awkward thumbs up, maybe a shoulder pat. And she thinks that she could announce it to the two of them. Might someday, one soon. But also that… perhaps she doesn’t need to.

And – and she kinda gets the impression they’ve been waiting for it to unfold along such an avenue, at least ever since they found out that she and R– _him_ hooked up. Cos, okay, maybe Beth had a fraction of that inclination herself. It appears a little stupid – that her _dalliance_ with an insufferably macho man is, well, not to _blame_. But it’s attributable to, Beth can draw that direct line. Because it wasn’t _Dean_. And it was good. And it made her feel _herself_. She’s been chasing that a while.

It’s the kids she _really_ wishes to tell. Can picture chucking a: ‘Mommy likes girls too’ into conversation with them, easy. Because, god, what a ludicrous thing to _not_ share with them, to keep close. When she wants them to be comfortable, free from shame, open and accepting. But it’s just – there are leagues of the concealed that she’s _supposed_ to hold back, and the totality has a habit of snagging together in a sharp coil. Beth’s afraid that once her lips unglue, well who knows what might start tumbling forth. Plus – plus _any_ of her pack are liable to ask the other question and that–

Jamie’s _not_ her girlfriend. Beth made it crystal clear, from the jump, that that wasn’t an option. But Jamie’s also not nothing to her, so.

*

Beth hadn’t been looking. Not for more than a drink. And in retrospect perhaps she could have taken some aspects of the Soho’s appearance for intentional indicators, but when she’d entered the bar she’d simply been pleased with the décor. Because she _likes_ pink, and pin-ups. And flowers.

If it had been a man that sidled up to her that evening, complimented her eyes, Beth would’ve likely told him to fuck off. But it wasn’t. It was Jamie. And Beth’s always had a lot more time for women.

So they’d gotten to talking. And even though Beth had never done it before – slept with a person she’d only met that night, cradled skin as soft as hers as she went in for the kiss, got another woman off, whatever – somehow it all felt wholly _right_.

Once turned into twice, which grew and swelled and. Beth just keeps on – heading back.

The entire thing makes her feel – a little similar to Dean, in truth. Which is far from a pleasant thought. That’s not a direction she wants to send her empathy, any connection. But Jamie’s _young_ , too young for her, surely. Beth finds herself wondering if Dean’s attraction to Amber, and whichever additional sylphs he was running around with, had less to do with ripe bodies and unlined faces than she once assumed. Whether it was primarily about an addictive trusting _sweetness_ instead, a quality Jamie exudes in spades.

The way she stares at Beth with those broad brown eyes… As if it’s reasonable to _believe_ in her; any array of possibilities. Implying life doesn’t always narrow paths down, siphon off options until all you’re left with is the worst of a sad bunch. Insinuating that petty desires are allowed to be the guiding principle of an individual. The naivety, the fooling suggestion that Beth isn’t a bad person – and that she might be amongst the most fascinating in the world too – it staggers her. Over and again.

That gentles Beth, it does. As it chastises her. Because at least a small part of her comprehends that she should stop. Ought not drag Jamie further into the wormhole of her existence, so prone to causing chaos to the unsuspecting. But it’s _good_ for her, and doesn't she deserve that? Something hers, bubbled and mellow.

It’s not only the sex, although – yeah. That’s. _Yes_. And Beth revels in her own skills there, not purely with a perfectionist’s pride. All the aspects – the five year dry spell, a supposed life partner who wasn’t exactly attendant to her pleasure, stints spent with an absolute _weirdo_ maniac who taught her a measure about utilising obsessive focus even as he wreaked havoc across her sphere – they’re badges of honour to her now. When Jamie’s moaning and struggling and totally losing her fricking mind above or below or besides Beth – yeah. It zings as hard-won, this relentless ability to get her, someone, off, to use what she knows, from herself, her observations, that way. Which certainly isn’t _bad_. She wears it like her scars – stuff that’s real. That counts. Evidence of what’s been earned.

But beyond all of that, Beth’s a fan of the _situation_. Because she’s got – rules. Boundaries. Many spoken aloud, explicitly agreed with Jamie. It feels safe _and_ exciting all together, in a style that sex, companionship even, maybe nothing at all, ever has before.

Beth’ll swing by Jamie’s a couple of times a week, usually. Jamie’s _never_ coming to hers, cos that’s where her kids– And also– Well. It doesn’t matter _why_. Beth laid the ground rule, offered no explanations, and Jamie merely nodded, not once has she ever pried. That attitude – it just floods relief through Beth’s marrow. Beth suffuses the whole thing with respect too, finds that easy to return where it’s truly wafted towards her. She _never_ turns up out of the blue, always gives a heads up, waits for the yes.

The answer’s not once been anything but an affirmative, still Beth cares to be polite. Besides, this arrangement – it’s decidedly non-exclusive, that was another early set ruling. Formed when Beth had provided the simple truth that she’s not open to anything serious. Jamie nodded her beautifully understanding smile, the one that makes Beth want to rip every item in sight (but, hmm, _particularly_ the unframed posters) because someone is going to take advantage of all this kindness. Hell, maybe that’s exactly what she’s doing. But also – thank fucking fuck for it.

*

She’s never messaged Jamie so late before, Beth doesn’t like being awake after 11pm if she can avoid it. Maybe that’s why it’s forever a yes. But there’s tension sluicing through her, she was tossing about, far from sleep. So she went for a drive, the way she did when the kids were young and fractious, and she pulled over and now she thinks – fuck it. Even if it is the incorrect side of midnight, there’s nothing wrong with _asking_.

The string of emojis appears within ten minutes.

Beth smirks. She’s a teeny bit ashamed of the – vanity of it all. But it’s _satisfying_ to be wanted, appreciated, admired. That can hardly be a unique yen.

It takes little time before she’s manoeuvring into the driveway of the bungalow, she’d strayed near with her random turns. Jamie’s place is nice, too nice probably. Beth’s never asked how she can afford it. For several reasons, not least because she fears her capacity for envy, what it can lead her to. And also, a drone at the base of her thoughts reminds her that she’s a _criminal_ – that proximity to wealth might spur her to press an advantage and, shit. She at minimum doesn’t wish to do that, be that foul. To Jamie.

Beth lets herself in, through the back door, as usual. Tiptoes to the bedroom. Jamie’s waiting there for her, gives her arrival the biggest grin. And it’s a true pleasure to unwrap her – peel the tee and briefs from her body, lose herself a while, quiet the chattering, spilling boxes of her own brain. There’s something easily addictive to it – Jamie’s desperate gasps, her wet, blown eyes, the faith she has that Beth’s going to absolutely _wreck_ her.

Afterwards, when Beth’s spent long minutes with her neck crammed at an awkward angle, flopped over a conglomeration of cushions, all fucked out and dazed, she drags herself upwards. Starts gathering clothes.

“You could,” Jamie begins.

“Mm?” Beth fills in, shrugging her shirt into place once more.

Jamie catches her eye, gestures with her head towards the other side of the bed. That smile’s a little shy, a little aware.

Beth’s headshake in response is soft. She’s not trying to be a dick. But come _on_ , that’s not happening. Which Jamie _knows_. It’s just the oxytocin or whatever, soaking her sinews. The stuff that makes one dopey and unguarded and snuggly; what Beth’s no longer foolish enough to buy into.

She presses a placid kiss to Jamie’s cheekbone.

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes please.” Jamie’s grin is pretty wicked. That side of her face is dappled, flamed, looking more like it was a fist recently there than lips.

Beth’s yawny on the way home, but adrenaline powers her back. Until she’s in bed, able to drift absent, sated.

*

It’s a couple of weeks later when Jamie punts into conversation, casual, “I met someone,” as she strokes the ticklish skin where Beth’s waist dips.

Beth waits for the wave of emotion at the concrete. That anger she’d felt at Dean’s admissions. The flare of envy she experienced in a parking lot, at a beautiful woman wrapped around – him. Nothing of the sort blooms.

“Okay,” she says.

Jamie’s eyes raise, and she blinks a few times.

“I told him about you.”

Beth chuffs, unimpressed. _Irritated_. Not that Jamie really knows enough to spill any secrets, she’s never named, or indeed counted, her children to her. Offered no information on her jobs, licit or otherwise. But it bites at her, the flagrant disregard for her preference towards privacy.

Jamie shifts at her obvious discomfort. Plies her fingers through Beth’s hair now.

“Not–” her unoccupied hand flutters. She breaks off, forms a new approach. “Just that I’m see– That there’s someone.”

“Someone?” Beth echoes, eyebrow lifted and lips pulling to the side, a barely repressed smile.

Jamie nods, mollifying. Emboldened. She slides to straddle.

“Someone,” she repeats. “Gorgeous. Sexy. Blows my mind.”

“Oh yeah?” Beth’s hands find Jamie’s waist, gather her close.

“ _Yes_. Fucks me straight into next week.”

Jamie’s gazing steady at her, through wide-spread lashes. Pushes a not-quite-chaste kiss to the side of Beth’s mouth; twirls her tongue there.

She pulls back, says, “He’s really hot.”

It’s perhaps _too_ conspiratorial. Once again, Beth’s waiting for the weight of the other shoe clamping down upon her. But there’s nothing. Not even in that numb way, really. More – Jamie’s the obnoxious type of attractive, it’s hard to imagine anyone she _wouldn’t_ look good against. Entwined with.

Jamie’s studying her face, careful. Must find something permitting there, because she adds, “He seemed pretty into it.”

Her hand sprawls then jiggles between the pair of them.

Beth scoffs. “Oh yeah, I bet.” God, how _inane_.

But Jamie’s giggling, tinkly and relaxed.

“Not like _that_. I think he just – likes the idea of me all wound up.”

Beth mms, loses the thread of the thought, as they distract into the moment.

But it finds her again later. On the ride home. In the shower. When she’s working her new vibrator against herself a few nights after. Because she enjoys getting Jamie all twisted about, clearly. Unweaving. Building her back there again. But also – it’s kind of… flattering. Or something in that area anyway, to have that appreciated by a stranger too. In the abstract. It’s nice to catch one’s talents – at crafting, cakes, cash, diverse miscellanea – recognised, after all.

*

Jamie doesn’t mention it – him – the next time.

Beth teases her to absolute distraction, Jamie’s wrists loosely bound by a scarf. Feathers light touches, the occasional barely there lick to her clit. Beth’s certain she could free herself if she wished, but that’s not really Jamie’s pattern. So she keeps at it, till she’s being begged, wailed at, to please just fuck her, hard. She complies readily. Well, _eventually_.

But the rendezvous after, it’s brought up again.

At first, Beth’s fairly impatient, uneager for conversation. There’s too many stressors pinching under her ribs. Dean’s been flapping some unnecessary custody bullshit her way. She’s almost positive he’s merely flexing that power, isn’t actually going to pursue it. But it’s annoying, the very real panic that it sparks is a special type of shaming. And Rio’s shut them down once more, what with the feds sniffing around yet again. Annie and Ruby are chomping at the bit, floating hackneyed robbery plans again which doesn’t exactly sound smart but–

Honestly, she just wants to _fuck_ , quiet the frantic noises in her head. Fill her soul with _different_.

But she forces her breaths slow. Doesn’t wanna snap, act an asshole. Listens, even if her teeth are piercing an infinitesimal beat against her lower lip. It’s some fantasy Jamie and this dude have worked up. Her turned on past the point of reason, mouth wet with Beth – who’ll simply trot off home. While he’ll tag in, deal with this horny as hell – situation.

Beth’s first instinct is closer to no. But. She entertains the concept. And Jamie blessedly doesn’t push for an answer, won’t demand one or, worse, assume it. That appreciation of, allowance for, a proper thought process involving the precise weighing of pros, cons, sundry variables, might be the thing Beth likes the very best about her.

That irritating rushing, it’s not a nuisance that Beth _purely_ associates with men, though there’s certainly a couple of choice culprits she could indicate. Annie and Ruby do it too, sometimes with the sweetest of intentions. Beth recognises that they presume they’re assisting, shielding, by blurting a joke or moving the conversation elsewhere. Suggesting they think if she’s stunned or stumped it’s their job to help her out. But being confronted with – truth, hard questions, whatever… maybe that’s not always a bad thing.

Shit, there’s been _many_ a bout throughout her life that Beth’s worried there’s something _wrong_ with her. She’s no stranger to snap decisions but seeing other people genuinely _know_ how they feel about stuff, so fierce and assured, scents as largely foreign. It often takes her a while to comb through messy, mazed pathways. But, god, there’s been so much buried amongst her years. Problems she’s prevented herself from taking a second look at until they become too pressing. Massing contradictions. _Pains_.

What she says is, “I don’t want to meet him. See him. Whatever.”

Jamie’s nod is so serious, apportions too great a weight to her words, her _comfort_.

Beth glances off to the side. Doesn’t _sigh_ , just exhales, kinda heavy.

Then she says, “Let me check I’ve got this right. You want to go down on me, you want me to do absolutely nothing, and then you want me to fuck off home?”

Jamie’s smirking. “Uh huh, and then–”

“Whatever,” Beth says, flailing her hand out in a motion apparently capable of stoppering any further explanation as she flops flat on her back. She really doesn’t need _details_.

“I’ve had a _day_ ,” is all she has to say in agreement, for Jamie to be peeling her pants from her.

She pauses before dragging at her underwear to inform Beth, “I hope I didn’t imply this was going to be quick,” with a particularly sharkish approach.

Beth groans, in the good way.

Later, not just as she’s homeward bound but across the days subsequent, she paints it as a poor decision.

But, so what. If Jamie and this guy are into a weird fantasising game – well, it’s not really _her_ problem. And it’s kind of alluring, the idea of starring. Like _that_. She’s sure people have gotten off to thoughts of her before, she’s not naive, is aware of how she looks. But she suspects that her draw has tended to be tied to her softness, some implied sweetness. The good girl, the housewife, the mama. Subservience either assumed or enforced. It’s pleasurable to be perceived as a stripe more vampish, powerful, in control. Even if that’s not quite the complete picture alone.

She tells herself she knows how to backtrack one yes. That’s not a blanket agreement, obviously. How it was fun to experiment with, but not for her as it turns out.

When Jamie broaches it again, Beth discovers she’s _more_ enthusiastic about the prospect though. Emphatic, almost.

*

And one day Beth finds herself, a dash dazzled, licking some apparently handsome stranger’s come from Jamie’s cunt.

She’d’ve gotten here sooner if she hadn’t stopped for a slushie, finding the line at the gas station a little _too_ long but sticking with it anyway. Beth didn’t explain her lateness upon arrival, simply tossed her hair behind her shoulder. Acted like this was the moment she _chose_ to turn up at. Jamie’s welcome, from her spot on the bed, had been blinding.

The thought remains, insuppressible, that this cannot be a good idea. Indulging this. Even if it is warming her under the metaphorical collar.

“Do you talk about me?” Beth asks, after.

Jamie’s quick to assure her that any – _chat_ is entirely detail-less. It gets her squirming a little, Jamie enumerating how she talks up, or about at least, Beth’s prowess, beauty, power. And she definitely notices, pulls it to her advantage when she’s got several elegant fingers deep and turbulent inside Beth, whispering sweet somethings to her ear.

It’s doubtless a slippery slide to _destructive_. But Beth finds she’s lost concerns of extracting herself, avoiding further meshing. Is lasering on making sure she never has to meet this man – god, how embarrassing a prospect that is. She watches Jamie for telltale signs of any such _attempt_ , but they do not appear on her surface. And she’s not a person given to untruths, as far as Beth can intuit. Which makes her worries on _that_ scenario subside, leaving her to attend more to the farcical nature of it all.

She doesn’t want to run out a door, smack straight into whoever this guy is. Or worse, walk in on the pair of them! Jamie seems to have a tight grip on the scheduling. But, still.

*

One day he asks for a picture. Or Jamie says he does anyway.

Beth’s mouth snaps shut, and Jamie changes the subject. The tack at least. She kisses her throat, then down, till she’s biting at one of Beth’s stinging nipples, teasing the other between the tips of her fingers.

In a foxing post-orgasmic daze, Beth says, suspicion thick in her voice, “Picture of what?”

Jamie shrugs, nothing notably false to it. Says, “Whatever,” almost _guileless_.

Beth’s eyes firm. “Not my face?”

Jamie’s head shakes.

“And not…?” Her hand gropes one of her breasts as she half-tuts.

Jamie rather resembles a puffer fish as she tries to hold her amusement within the confines of her cheeks.

“Or?” Beth flops her thighs further apart, traces her inner lips. Finds she is very – _damp_ , still. Realises her underwear must have remained so too.

God, maybe she could just shower here because the drive isn’t wildly long but– Or maybe she _should_ start leaving some clothes here, that surely wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Her eyes drift easily over Jamie’s body, taking in her tiny hips, and Beth concludes – not for the first time, possibly past the tenth too – that no, attempting to wear anything of hers likely wouldn’t be a resounding success, though–

Jamie snaps her from her thoughts with, “You want me to take a photo of–”

“ _No_.”

Jamie collapses back onto the giant beaded cushion, shaking with soundless giggles. Beth pokes at her with the toes of her right foot.

She captures the foot in her warm palms, strokes the arch. Smiles slow, pumps her brows upwards, twice.

Beth half-circles her eyes up lazily, but then sighs something amused. Consents to a photograph of her toes being taken.

*

It’s about a week later when it happens. The – misfire. She’s riding _high_ off a string of orgasms, attempting to stretch her spine _and_ message the girls at the same time. Annie and Ruby are concocting increasingly bad plans, and don’t even get her _started_ on their codename suggestions. Beth gets it, she does, but there’s a reason for the current shutdown, and doing anything explosive really might not be the best idea right now. They have _some_ savings, and, yes, she doesn’t want to keep dipping into the remainder either, but forging a potential disaster hardly seems the wisest move if it all may be neatly resolved soon.

Her fingers are sluggish across the screen though and she halts, frowning, trying to will her body into energised.

When she looks up, Rio’s just – standing there.

Obviously she startles. Because it’s _weird_. But the sight of him, half-shadowed, cos of course he is, what she can see of him glimmering from street lamps and moonglow, isn’t technically unwelcome.

If it doesn’t herald business being back up in full, at least there’s likely a mysterious side quest to be had. One no doubt annoying, but, crucially, _paid_.

“What do you want?” It comes out extra sharp, but really – it’s verging on the inappropriate, sourcing her _here_.

Beth’s long suspected Rio has some method for tracking her, and this _screams_ proof. God, he is such a dick. Trust him to need to posture in this way. Prove he can find her any time, weasel out what she cares for, so he can languidly pose as a threat to it. She vividly remembers him putting a bullet in Dean; sending Lucy’s death to her.

“Ain’t here for you,” he says.

Rio starts stepping forwards, into her space.

Beth’s heart spasms, her thoughts doubling down around those last fears.

“Are you threatening her?” It’s heated – Beth’s face, voice, belly.

She catches his eye roll.

“Jesus,” he says on an exhale, “Not everything’s about you.”

He tries to push past her and Beth kind of…loses it. Wrenches her shoulder into him, and then they’re both glaring, half-tangled, and she – realises.

“No,” she says, despair-threaded. “Oh. _No_. No. N– It’s _you_?”

He sort of wobbles his head, in what can only be assent.

Beth takes a step back, then another. Suddenly desperate to not be touching him, breathing air he’s tainted.

“You _knew_?” Beth hisses. “Have you been– Are you that obsessed with – with. Controlling my life! That you’re pawing through my sloppy seconds?”

One of his ridiculous large hands comes up, clutches at the top of his face.

“Fucking christ,” he says, _quiet_. It sounds a bit like Annie when she _really_ can’t bear a jot more.

His palm lifts off, the fingers spread as the juddering skin slaps down against nothing, tips pointed her way. She honestly wouldn’t be surprised to see lightning sparking there. It’s been that kind of – day. Year. Shit, _decade_.

“How _does_ a person get to be this self-obsessed?”

Beth splutters. “ _Me_?”

He does an abysmally poor imitation, it’s more jabbering mouth than anything audible. Adds, buzzy, “Yeah, you.”

When Beth doesn’t reply, he folds in, “Met a girl at the bar. It’s really not that deep.”

A brow has pulled upwards, curving eyelid with it. His gaze drops somewhat derisively over her.

Her vision scans across him, disbelieving. It doesn’t look like a lie, but the best ones never do.

“That’s it?” she snips.

Rio gestures into the air, hand moving in a different direction to the one his head swipes to. “That’s it.”

She’s still scowling.

“You gonna fuck off now or what?”

And, yeah – that’d probably be the better part of – whatever. But. She plays her trump card, raising a finger.

“Then why aren’t you surprised to see me?”

He huffs, like she’s predictable. _Boring_. “Been standing here waiting for you to stop squinting at your phone for, I dunno, three hours? Had a while to,” his shoulders jerk fast, “acclimatise.”

Rio’s look is expectant, not even challenging.

That all actually – sounds as if it might make some kind of sense.

The anger quells, at least in part. She storms past him, striding off. Her boots click onwards, a pleasing metronome.

But then she hears it, a weary, “Elizabeth.”

Beth turns, spleen at her throat.

Before she can speak, Rio, staring at a spot above her head, says, “Your car’s back here.” His thumb tips in a sure arc.

She shuts her lids. Grasps fingers together.

“You really might wanna get your eyes checked,” he has the audacity to add.

She inhales deep, via her nose. “Please go away,” fractures through her teeth.

Possibly she detects the ghost of a reply on the breeze.

When Beth peeks out one eye, no one’s there.

*

The shutdown ends not long after. Beth braces herself to have to face Rio, in person, after – that. She’s anticipating _awkward_ , and when reality hits, she finds she wasn’t wrong. But also… she’s dealt with worse.

He’s got an odd look to him, hovering betwixt smug and amused, with a tinge of what she supposes might, bizarrely enough, be bashfulness. And it’s not too much work to shrug the haught, loosen her shoulders and basically – mirror it.

Maybe he’s read into Ruby and Annie’s absence. Maybe that’s not noteworthy to him in the slightest.

Beth keeps waiting for him to say something lascivious or ignorant or _mean_. But he doesn’t.

And she thinks – well. She slept with this guy once. Or, fine. Twice. Whatever. Not in a way that ever involved any actual sleeping, obviously. But. This whole mess with Jamie – feasibly it’s not really a knottier clusterfuck than that.

It’s all very – startling. Mortifying, sure. But what about sex, or simple existence, isn’t in the bright of day?

And if the circumstance that she’s been dreading had to occur – maybe it’s better that it’s someone she’s felt, tasted, seen…? It could be worse, right? Right? Right.

At any rate, Beth doesn’t burn serious thought on giving it up. He’d love that, probably, if she did. But she’s not having one more thing taken from her, absolutely not by this particular rival. If he’s got a problem with it, great, he can fuck all the way out of Jamie’s vicinity. Ideally, will.

*

The next time she’s at Jamie’s, Beth rushes to inform her in no uncertain terms that _that_ won’t be happening again. The whole – tagging in, out, whatever.

Jamie’s forehead furrows. For a sickening second Beth’s concerned it’s an issue. That all of this _appearance_ of caring what she’s comfortable with has been mere ruse, a manipulation.

But then Jamie says, “Yeah, that’s what he said too.”

Her face is scrunched, suspicion edging around her pupils.

Beth _beams_ sweet at her. Fondles a hand to hip. Says, “Well good. I guess we’re all agreed that – ran its course.”

She locks eyes with Jamie, drags her front teeth across her own bottom lip. Adds, “Not sure I want to share.”

Runs the full gamut of distractions.

In the aftermath, Beth allows herself to stay, limb-tangled and sweat-shined, in Jamie’s sheets longer than usual. Whisper-extracts assurances that Jamie hadn’t told R– him anything of import. It’s not that she doesn’t need the affirmation that offers, but maybe she is playing up the misted vulnerability, fine, for – ulterior purposes. But it _works_.

The trusting, adoring, consumed cast is back to Jamie’s features – it becomes imprinted again on the inside of Beth’s eyelids.

It makes Beth loathe herself, a bit. But it also does lead to her feeling – fairly self-impressed.

*

They’re at the bar, again. They always seem to be meeting at Rio’s bar.

Beth doesn’t hate it. The alcohol selection’s decent. Improved by the fact that she doesn’t have to pay.

The pair of them toast after exchanging monies. It’s not quite a ritual, though it could form into one with further repeats.

Her hand’s on the strap of her purse, she’s gathering herself to leave, when Rio’s lips bulge in a telling fashion.

She waits a beat.

“None of my business, but…” he starts. His focus trails her face as his head re-angles with vibrant cocky intent.

And – _great_. She’s been kinda anticipating it, unable to decide on what flavour of annoying to expect. Will it be vulgar, petty, boring? _If you told me back then you were into chicks we could have had some fun_? _Isn’t she too young for you_? I _fuck her properly_?

She’s prepared for any of that, tension high in her jaw.

Not, “You oughta leave that girl alone.”

_What_? Beth flusters, almost spasms. It takes slow seconds for her thoughts to coalesce.

“Are you… jealous?”

Rio snorts, dismissive.

Her voice gains a lilting quality. “Because she likes me better?”

“Please,” he says, with the smallest headshake, features crunching with it. “I’m not twelve.”

It’s kind of as if the mere idea of liking somebody, more or less, is absurd to him, childish. Which is – intriguing, to be honest.

But Beth doesn’t have time for – whatever.

“Look, I don’t know what possessive nonsense this is, but you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

As she watches the muscles in his neck meander, Beth thinks of the fact that he’s still, sort of, her boss. And almost definitely gearing towards a snide remark on how he _totally_ gets to order her around.

“About this stuff,” Beth primly amends.

Rio tips his chin into his palm. Tells her, far too easily, “I’m not a good person.”

Which Beth – sure, is hardly going to disagree with.

“I’ll kill again,” he continues with a self-deprecating smile that edges dangerously close to charming. “I promise I’m gonna call, and then I just delete the number. _Always_ laugh my ass of when I catch someone fall over.”

Rio shrugs.

Beth nods, mostly with her chin. She’s pretty sure her face _cannot_ be subsuming all of her confusion, but maybe that’s okay. Advisable, even. She dimly considers bargaining for a raise, if he’s gonna try using her as a shrink.

He dramatically flings his neck in the opposite direction. Says, while gesturing her way with his now free hand, “But at least I can always count on being better than you.”

Beth _snaps_. Her spine straightens. Offence tips her mouth open. But the words won’t come.

Cos, okay, yeah. Fine – she did shoot him. _Fine_. But the manner he carries on on the topic, you’d think he didn’t put the gun in her hand, or kidnap her to the location. Hadn’t had varied muzzles pointed at her in the months prior. It’s not like she invented gun violence, fucksake.

He eternally brings it back there. When he’s in danger of losing an argument. They’ve talked – around it, never about it, really, too many times. It’s beginning to feel too familiar, sounds almost comparable to the nonsense bickering of Ruby and Annie. For show more than a true purpose.

She’s primed to just take off, but then he says, “You’re cruel for fucking sport.”

The movements of his eyes are utterly derisive as he adds, at the summit of ridiculousness, “She’s clearly in love with you.”

Beth laughs, though the pitch offsets _weird_. “No she isn’t.” Because come _on_. Like, genuinely.

Rio pulls a face. “I’d know,” he says.

Beth is an inch off saying something particularly unkind, the words fizz atop her tongue.

“She won’t stop banging on about you. Shit’s _annoying_.”

Beth holds up a hand, makes to speak. Gives up. Leaves.

She bursts into confused giggles a few times over it. Concludes that Rio _i_ _s_ weirdly possessive of Jamie. Too threatened by her presence in Jamie’s orbit. Or he simply can’t compute the existence of people who, you know, have sane conversations with whole sentences. Both, likely.

*

But it throws a different lens on the situation. At first, Beth reckons that was his _aim_. To blemish her interactions with Jamie, get her to ruin a good thing. But. _But_.

The reverence of Jamie’s fingertips, that growing force to her suggestions, the timid but predicating light behind those eyes.

It makes Beth – not exactly disdainful but… reminiscences float downstream. Unpleasant thoughts of Dean. She’s learnt to see, with the benefit of hindsight, how he’d convinced her into his blanket of loving assurances. Beth hadn’t had the language back then to name it, only the knowledge of an uncomfortable sensation, hairs on her arms standing to attention, apprehension churning in her gut. Because what she’d wanted more than anything was a safe port for her, and Annie too. She didn’t – not in her fearful depths – long to be buried in a _unit_. Or – not one like that. To be neatly bound and terribly cliched. It’s no wonder she chafed. Folded, concave, into herself.

And that’s who she’s desperately used to now – herself. Fording her own course. That lust for autonomy is – engulfing.

She can’t face the responsibility of having to behave as a good person. A kind one.

And – jesus. When they’re sprawled, limbs caught on each other, and Beth goes to pull away, and Jamie squeezes at her arm (it’s not a grasp, no, forever far gentler) and sinks this plainly involuntary displeased squeak, Beth does experience pride and guilt and sympathy and satisfaction. But none of those anywhere near the levels of her _frustration_.

It makes her think – fuck.

There’s annoyance that Rio was right, sure, and that he saw details she was blind to. But also that – yet again something in her life is all screwed up because one more meddler couldn’t handle their emotions. Wouldn’t lock their shit deep down where it belongs and let stuff be _simple_ ; had to leak feelings all over her. Whether that manifests as avoiding divorce by lying about having goddamn _cancer_ , or the preposterous gift of a kidnapped FBI agent, or making the mistake of falling for her – shit, why do people continually need to force everything so unreasonably complicated.

*

Beth takes a little while to work up to the decision though. The one to break it off.

Cos, okay. So fucking sue her. Fine, she’s selfish. But she wasn’t for so long. And it’s nice. To feel good about herself. To simply feel _good_. And–

But the foregone conclusion looms.

Beth heads over to Jamie’s, with her practised, neatest words. Assures herself, based on her rear-view, that the gleam in her eyes truly encapsulates sorriness.

Only when she finds Jamie, anomalously in her kitchen, she’s sniffling already.

Briefly, Beth considers – somewhat brightly – that Jamie’s picked up the vibe, detected what Beth’s here for.

But then she turns to Beth, is so obviously appeased by her presence, and it’s clear that _that’s_ not what’s up.

It’s hours before Beth’s able to get away. She instantly aches to see Rio, tries to stomp along to his to– But then she inspects how late it is. The bar, which frankly it’s _bizarre_ how much time he spends at, even if it is his, has to be shut. And she doesn’t actually know where he lives – still, again, whatever. That forever strikes as unfair, given how comfortable he’s consistently been with striding through her corners at any moment.

So she makes herself batten it down. Heads home. Thinks: _tomorrow_.

*

He must read into her saccharine simper. Beth doesn’t manage to get a second word out before Rio suggests they take the conversation to the back office. He rarely bothers to do so, shunt them from potential prying, when they’re criming about. But maybe exchanging bags and envelopes doesn’t clash as strange, generally. She ebbed her sense of normalcy, some while ago.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she snaps, as Rio’s shutting the door behind him.

He turns on her. Gives her that almost-smirk he typically reserves for times he considers her behaviour truly outlandish.

And he doesn’t _say_ anything, which is infuriating. Admittedly less so than most of the moments where he is speaking. But, still. It’s rude. Not to inquire.

“You ended it with Jamie!” Beth persists.

“Uh huh.” His agreement’s unruffled. “Kinda ran its course.”

“She’s _heartbroken_.”

Rio sniffs, apparently disinterested. “She’ll get over it.” He sounds very certain. But that’s not exactly atypical.

Beth’s not sure if what he adds next is supposed to be vaguely consoling, or if his arrogant ass is just showing off.

“Sent her them nice flowers.” His arms cross, shoulders pulsing.

Both of Beth’s hands grasp around air, shudder as fists. “ _You_ told _me_ to break up with her!”

Rio grunts his recollection.

And Beth finds herself simply scowling at his stupid face. This is all his fault. She can’t kill this thing with Jamie _now_ , it’d be like kicking a puppy when it’s deep, deep down a pit.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me you were going to do that?!”

Rio scoffs, too loud. “Oh I’m sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t know you were so invested. I’ll be sure and add you to the newsletter, yeah?”

Beth tries to screw the virulent anger out from her throat, so she can speak.

Her words come out a little croaky. “But I was _about_ to!”

Rio snorts, disbelieving. But then maybe he catches a sprig of substance from her face. Because he doesn’t soften, not one single smidge, but something at least seems to relent.

“How am I supposed to know that?”

His eyes widen, head tipping slightly, lower lip disappearing. As if he pities her idiocy.

But Beth’s not taking that. “You told me to–”

Rio interrupts, however, “Yeah, yeah. Really seemed like you were about to man up.”

Beth bristles. Is powerfully certain he’s gearing to leap to some unfair comment on her response to feedback in general.

“You could’ve – asked.” It sounds pathetic out loud. Warmth grows behind her ears.

Rio puffs out a torrent that’s amused, but undoubtedly not laughter.

“You coulda told me.”

Beth snorts at that, before catching herself.

And then they’re both just kinda biting at threatening grins cos – yeah. The idea of them communicating honestly on pretty much anything, it _is_ fairly stupid. Plus, of all their issues for them to be yelling at each other about… it’s _this_?

Rio shuffles his upper body slightly. Mutters, “I dunno, I’m sure you can find a nice edible arrangement to send.”

Beth continues glowering as Rio shifts, goes for the doorknob.

“You still suck,” she tells him, in an authoritative tone.

He peeps behind for her, mouth initially slack. He seems to discard a couple of options as comebacks, then simply extends that brow. Says, “Uh huh,” far too mild before exiting.

*

Beth leaves it a week. And she talks herself out of doing it via text, though it’s a near thing. In the end she calls Jamie, feeling a coward.

Jamie does _not_ take it well.

And she asks that terrible question, “Do you know him?”

Beth _just_ prevents herself from feigning too much confusion, says, “What?” instead of ‘who’.

“Shit,” Jamie continues, pointed, “are the two of you together? Was this all some – game?”

“No!” her answer is probably too fast, although it’s the truth. She repeats the syllable several times. Then, “It’s not you–”

Palm smacks at her forehead, sharp. Fuck, how to explain without honest detailing, and without recourse to reductive played out trite phrasing.

“I’m a mess,” she breathes. “You’re better off out of it, _seriously_.”

“Yeah,” Jamie snaps, “I’m getting that.”

And then she hangs up.

Beth hadn’t anticipated that, the steel in her voice, such a capacity for rage. It’s annoying how attractive it is. But, see. She’s clearly lucky to be rid of her.

*

Beth does _not_ tell Rio about going through with it. Because it’s none of his damn business! And, anyway, if he wanted to know he could _ask_. Which, sure, sounds preposterous. Given they don’t do that. They’re not friends, obviously. But he’s a nosy enough bitch and – whatever. He _could_ ask. It’s not like she’d kill him for it. Probably.

But then one night they’re _finally_ clinking shot glasses, after Rio made her endure far too long a rant on the topic of agave. He’s honestly the biggest fucking nerd over the strangest stuff. Beth finds it almost endearing, but only cos it’s an accusation she nearly never gets to level at a person, comparatively. She’s convinced she caught him mumbling about plane-watching last week.

Beth’s not drunk by any means but there’s something to catching their fractured reflections behind the liquor bottles in the otherwise deserted – though technically, she thinks, not shut – space that sends her scrambling for anything to fill the void.

Her voice is pitched light when she magnanimously allows, “You were right.”

Rio mms seriously with a considering nod. Says, “Yep,” very definitively, before stretching, all smug.

It’s relieving – to have it acknowledged, not dug into.

But then he asks, “About what?”

And, god, she could _strangle_ him.

“Jamie.” It’s hard to articulate it, her name, Beth’s teeth are gritted so tight.

Rio turns to look at her.

And, _ugh._ She has to ask. She just _has_ to.

“Did you know? That it was me?”

He pulls a disturbed face. Supplies a resounding, “ _Nah_.” Waits a beat before adding, “You really are a narcissist, huh?”

Beth flails a hand out, sharp, his way. Not an attempted slap, but a concrete _fuck off_.

*

Over the weeks, which creep and bleed to months, those close to closing time drinks become more frequent. Less work-tied.

And Beth’s often got a tale to regale him with, see. Because she’s leaked back to barflying. Not _here_ , obviously. But. There’s a hole in her – schedule. So she’s open to meeting a pretty girl, or guy. And she can certainly hold her own at any game.

Yet something generally seems to go, if not awry exactly, then significantly awkward. She steers aside from sex details – well unless there’s a fart involved. Rio appears to find flatulence at least as hilarious as Kenny does. He’s maybe even at _Annie_ levels. The clumsy pick up lines, those are great. That night the roommates, who were supposed to be away all weekend, wandered on in. The incident with the cracked basin. And the one with the fucking _water balloons_.

It’s embarrassing, yes, but in a good, pure manner. At times one or both of them is cackling so hard mirth is literally tearing down their cheeks. And clearly it’s ridiculous, sharing anecdotes with him she can’t imagine telling Annie or Ruby anything of. But also – fuck it. Who in hell is he going to tell. It’s annoying how competently he's learnt her, with spiking regularity throughout their acquaintance. But there’s salve to it too. And what does it matter what he thinks of her – it can’t get worse than the places they’ve been.

He slips her nuggets too. A few make her flush. More practically fold her doubled with how they stoke hysteria in her mid-section – like that one about confusing the names.

Ever since the Incident, Rio refuses to play pool with her, so they’re pretty much always chilling at the bar. Many occasions he’s beside her, but some nights Rio’ll be across from her as he concocts some mix or other. Those instances he tends to get all preachy on complementary flavours in a fashion that should be entirely tiresome.

One night, Rio cracks what Beth hopes very hard is a joke, though he looks especially intense as he says it. It’s a line about charging her for her drinks. They both end up slumped under the weight of their laughter. Her shoulder brushes him and she marvels at how hugely she doesn’t care.

He never mentions Jamie. Beth doesn’t ask.

*

She has three separate conversations with her children, in which she inserts some variant of, ‘Mommy likes girls too’.

Danny asks if that’s why she and daddy got divorced, whereas Emma’s the one to optimistically ask if she has a girlfriend. Beth manages to keep the negatives to both queries light, free from ornate caveats.

Jane asks if Ruby’s her wife, making Beth realise that – shit, her kids haven’t seen Stan for a _while_.

Kenny waits maybe four seconds before returning to trying to renegotiate his allowance.

It’s – fine. Like it’s nothing. But it’s – everything.

One day she drops it into conversation with Annie and Ruby. She takes a giant breath and just – “I’m bi.”

At first they do that eye rolling bit where they’re, kinda understandably, so unsurprised that it’s treated as entirely insignificant.

But then Annie, and it’s surely from the stony downturn of Beth’s mouth, realises it’s the only time they’ve heard it aloud.

It does remain a little needling, how they don’t let her voice her annoyance, jump in swiftly to smooth everything over. But also – Beth’s feeling too set in her ways to change the majority of her behaviours so, god, she’s not convinced she can really expect too much of that from either of them. Especially when she’s not conveyed that she needs them to do that for her less and less these days.

And as they clink the mugs of bubbly, Beth is mostly thinking that she loves them precisely how they are, truly.

*

The deal with Sonny goes _so_ well.

Beth didn’t quite broker it alone. Rio was a persistent presence throughout, but the lead was all hers.

It was faintly supportive, how he stuck. Irritating in his specific fashion, as well.

Because Beth would’ve hated more than anything having to _need_ his help. Being forced to turn to him for guidance or assurances or firepower, especially in front of an audience.

Once it’s all done and dusted, she’s so fucking _hyped_ , soaked with even greater levels of jittering energy than during the anticipatory period.

Rio suggests a toast back at the bar and Beth _almost_ capitulates, out of sheer familiarity. But she realises she yearns to celebrate _properly_.

He doesn’t act offended or surprised when she turns him down. Maybe he saw it coming, understands what it means. Or perhaps he assumes everyone’s moods are as changeable as his.

Either way, Beth drives aimlessly for a short spell. Tries to decide how she wants to play it. Because the truth is, she’s become rather disillusioned with the – scene. It’s not merely that the adequacy of the sex is variable. She’s become increasingly certain that casual hook ups are, disappointingly, not really her jam. Somehow, with Jamie, she’d lucked into the perfect situation, one apparently not easy to replicate. It was so _comforting_. Neatly fenced. Free from annoying questions. Beth knew she could confidently lose herself there, didn’t have to remain tensed, waiting.

And, yes. She knows it’s a poor idea. An unkind one. To start that up again. But she _aches_. And so she breaks. Clinches the short distance.

Only, when she arrives there’s a tellingly almost house-sized car parked outside. It’d be damning enough, even if she hadn’t long ago memorised the licence plate.

Every nerve in her body tries to anchor her. To stay here. Catch him, as it were. But – god. She _can’t_. It’s too – something. Vulnerable. Admitting. Pathetic. Whatever.

So she floors it, focuses on simply getting home. There she works herself to an underwhelming, bitter orgasm. Flops about, headbutts pillows.

*

The next day finds her _more_ annoyed over it, which she hadn’t expected. It gnaws at her, hour after hour.

Come nightfall, Beth’s thrown caution to its usual place. She storms on into the bar a little ahead of twelve. Shockingly, there are a few people around, but that’s not a fact she has the energy to care for.

She adjusts her glasses, firms. “You went to see her?” Beth demands of Rio, who’s lounging, uselessly. “ _Really_?”

There are a couple of titters.

Beth assumes she’s not the first to shout something of the type to him, perhaps not the only one to do so in this very location. Though she figures the number saying it for this precise reason won’t be too high.

She’s not surprised when he starts steering her to the back room. And, yeah, fine. She can yell at him wherever he prefers.

“ _And_?” he hisses, as they enter.

She’s apoplectic, shuddering hand waves.

“Never said I wouldn’t,” Rio answers, like he’s interpreted her gestures perfectly well, with a shrug.

“That’s–! _I_ –!” Beth splutters.

“ _You_ finished with her way back when. What you getting all jealous for?”

“I’m not–! Did you– You _manipulated_ me into ending it? So you could… What? Win? Have her to yourself? I don’t…”

Beth waits for the sting of tears. For something to make sense. Rio remains largely impassive.

“Do you talk about me with her, still?”

His jaw jumps.

“You know… she asked me if we knew each other.” Beth’s eyes narrow.

“Yeah?” Rio’s tone is almost casual.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Beth spits. “Did. You. Know? That it was–”

“God,” Rio tuts, looking at the ceiling. “You still on that? How the fuck was I supposed to know it was you?”

Beth’s fist raises, separates at a certain point as she claws into her curls. “Did you fucking _suspect_ then?”

Because _she_ never had. Although perhaps she should’ve – the combination of hot and _that_ weird, mixed with the universe’s spite. It’s just that – when she’d been picturing Jamie’s mystery man, maybe she’d filled in the details in her mind with familiar elements but– And ever since she found out the truth of it, she’s not dwelt there, at the image of that duo, dancing their flesh close, lit by thoughts of her. Definitely not intentionally.

“Why do you _care_?” He sounds exhausted.

“I don’t!”

“Cool,” Rio says, eyes flashing. “Fuck off, then.” His head tips towards the bar. “It’s kicking out hour.”

He leaves. She – doesn’t. There’s a bottle of bourbon, and a helpful glass, on the desk, calling her name. That’s why.

When Rio saunters back he doesn’t resemble surprised, nor impressed, at finding her settled in his chair.

So she adds extra power to her glare. “Why’d you have to take her away?”

“I–? That’s– What are you _on_?”

She’s never heard him audibly baffled like that. Like her.

He takes a deep breath, grinds his teeth. Stares at a point not that near her head.

Says, “Ain’t seen her recently.”

“Yesterday is pretty fucking–”

Rio’s eyes come back to her, from where they’d been rolling. “Apart from yesterday. Fucksake, you competing for the national smartass award or what?”

Which – pot, fucking kettle, okay.

“How’d you know I was there?” Rio adds.

“Well,” Beth stalls, clears her throat.

“Exactly. So don’t get your hypocritical panties all bunched up, yeah.”

Beth sighs, fight abating some. She’s not even sure that she believes him. Inevitably can’t _trust_ him. Simply because, what, he’s never killed her. And they’re business partners. And at intervals they tell each other funny stories. He’s not a person anyone should ever let their guard down around.

It’s just – the reason she’s mad is– “She was my distraction. And I know that’s selfish. I know. But. So?”

Her eyes raise from the glass in her hands, intending to only briefly gauge Rio’s face, but she gets a bit stuck there. She was expecting a taunt, or possibly a weirdly positive ‘buck up, champ’. Not this – discomfort. _Warring_.

“Fine,” he says.

“What?”

“You want a distraction, fine.”

She’s still thoroughly lost.

Rio huffs, scowls deep. Says in a voice which digs at her veins, “Get on the couch, take off your pants.”

Beth almost laughs. Because it’s _ridiculous_. The very idea.

But then he basically says it again. “Pants off. Couch.” _Way_ too fucking bossy.

And Beth fancies – at least it’d be _different_. Out of the routine. Something to not think through. And she knows how it’ll go. She reckons they could never speak of it again after, successfully. Or giggle over it instead – and maybe that’d be kinda nice.

So she collapses onto the cushions, kicks off her shoes. One flops near Rio, but he doesn’t flinch. She shimmies out of her jeans.

“Panties too.”

Beth opens her mouth to tell him not to say _that_ , but she realises she already let one slide, and also – there’s probably bigger fish to worry about, here. So she drags down the lace too.

“Touch yourself,” he orders, in that no-nonsense voice.

Beth itches to obey, but – well. So she crosses her arms, slaps palms on either side. And if that also has the added benefit of framing her breasts perfectly – so.

Rio moves closer. “Forgot how you always need real specific instructions.” Adds, “Fingers inside yourself, Elizabeth.”

She unfolds one arm, bites very loosely on two fingers.

He shakes his head, makes a noise that’s quiet but bass-heavy.

Once he’s standing above her, he grabs onto her calves and _yanks_. Till her ass is practically flat against the arm of the couch, her legs falling up over it.

“Can’t believe you ever manage to con anyone into fucking you,” he mostly mutters, even as he repositions, so he’s at the foot of the couch, with her legs pressed up his body.

“Me?” she flails, sitting up slightly. “You like _gimlets_ , and murder and–”

But she trails off, when he starts insistently rubbing at her slit. And yes – of course she’s wet. He’s – he does that to her. She has eyes. Ears.

It’s not long before he’s bumped a finger inside her, then stretches to two. Rio insistently ignores her clit. The placement’s – tempting. She watches him harden. Beth reckons she could demand his cock or, better, his tongue. He’d presumably give her whatever right now. But she will not beg, she will not.

So she thrashes as he finger-fucks her, matching Rio’s sneer.

Just as she begins to come, contracting vividly, he pulls his fingers out. Her orgasm twists and spikes strangely as he works and works at her throbbing clit instead. Beth _yelps_. He keeps on going, and he must recall the last time he tried something of the sort – long ago – Beth pushing him away, overwhelmed.

She bites her lip, thrusts her chin at him, defiant.

He slides his fingers back in, and she’s clenching and clenching and clenching.

Beth’s not entirely sure she’s _conscious_ , but there’s a thought, and she’s somehow certain he must have it too. That if it was his cock inside her there’s no chance she wouldn’t be taking him with her right now, past the edge. A head between her thighs, she’d plausibly crush to death. She’s invariably loved the slow, steady pressure of anyone else’s fingers. Is so bad at doing this to herself, consistently loses to the power of her peak. Maybe he’s remembering shoving her on that sink, fucking her like this till she came all over his hand. How he didn’t push his cock inside her till he had her how he wanted, in his arms. The way it didn’t play out precisely the same in her bedroom, but – similarly.

Still, though. “Please.”

He doesn’t do it straight off. But then he’s dragging her, rough, so her ass is up on the arm of the couch. Uses his pointy body to pin her open. Slaps her right leg down, forceful. Bends to mouth at her clit. It barely feels like more than a single sloppy kiss there before she’s _exploding_. Even after he extracts his hand she _cannot_ catch her breath, blissful aftershocks remain, screwing her about. She’s so fucking ruined, she can’t think.

And then his voice comes. “Shirt off.”

Beth can hardly summon the coordination for the task, but he doesn’t offer any help.

When she glances above, she finds he’s made quick work of discarding his clothes, is down to underwear. And she just _stares_. Not that he’s much better. She shrugs out of her shirt in a daze, lets it drop.

He still looks so _good_. And those scars are frankly unimpressive, for the amount he’s berated her over them.

He ends up straddling her hips, contorting her at an angle that should be painful, but she’s numb to it, receptors too distracted. Rio rubs at himself through his boxers, before going for her bra straps and pushing them off her arms. He wiggles her bra low, away, till it’s practically cinching her waist. And _that_ must be why her respiration’s blustering, rampant.

Rio sucks in a breath that makes her cunt shudder.

He’s glowering the whole time. When he pulls out his dick, as he strokes himself under her mesmerised stare. Where she tries to sit up, tongue peeking, and he shoves her back – though not all that harshly. At the lifting of her quasi-steamed glasses onto her forehead. The part where he tells her, “Yeah. I know,” almost soothing. And she doesn’t have a fucking clue what he means, but she sort of squeaks, and then he grunts out a rumble that sounds quite like a ‘whatever’, kinda _emphatic_ , as if that’s supposed to be explanatory, possibly, and Beth maybe believes him anyway even if she doesn’t understand what he’s saying.

_Especially_ while he comes all over her tits, without a whisper of a warning.

He picks a spot on the side of her left breast. Rubs at a smear, respiration remaining ragged, again and again, till it’s her skin’s.

Once they’re both mostly past panting, he reaches for her bra – dragging it up her ribs again.

Her hand whips out, snatches at wrist, halting him. “I need to clean up.” She releases a breathy laugh.

“ _Nah_.”

Her eyebrows shoot, but her grasp slowly falls away.

He looks awfully pleased. More so, even, when he’s fiddling her shirt closed, after. Presses the material tight to her, rubbing his come all over and _through_ the thin cotton.

He hops off her, dresses fast.

“Gonna help me finish up?” He jerks his head towards the bar.

Beth gazes down at her chest. Slumps her skull back, tired. “No.”

He eyes her, unimpressed.

“I’ll come watch,” she offers.

“That’s what gets you hot?” he asks, as she attempts to finish dressing herself with some grace.

“Oh, like that’s not your thing?” she shoots back.

He sweeps a nondescript note.

So Beth adds, as she fights with her pants, “Ooh Elizabeth, ooh touch yourself.”

And yeah, okay, she never claimed it was a _perfect_ impression, but, really, he gives her way too much shit over it.

He shrugs. “Avoiding the heavy lifting. Boss gets to delegate.”

She rolls her eyes, obviously, but they’re both kinda smiley as she follows him.

She settles on a stool, observes.

Everyone’s been chucked out, the doors and windows all locked up already. Most of the chairs are stacked away. But there are still tasks to be dealt with, apparently. Beth watches Rio potter about with glassware, fiddle at the register. He’s humming.

God, he reminds her of her _kids_ – Danny and Emma playing post office for hours on end.

“You _like_ this.” Beth hadn’t even meant to speak, but it comes out assured.

He zips around, a sharp look on.

Beth gestures slowly at the space, and his shoulders dip.

“Did you always want a bar?” she asks, curious. Bold.

He grins. “They’re where the booze and pretty girls are.”

And she – can’t really argue with that logic. So she smiles her reply.

“You want a drink?” he asks.

Beth shakes her head, slow. “I drove.” Then she yawns, examines her wrist. “I should probably...”

Rio mms. Gathers himself.

He leads her out the back, she watches as he padlocks the final door.

As he turns to her, she’s still chewing her lip. Because she’s certain that she must say something. At the very least point out that he shouldn’t see Jamie – again. Now. After. Cos they can’t drop this shit on her doorstep. It’s all kinds of fucked up, however it conceivably becomes sliced. But, god, he must _know_ that, surely? Maybe he just doesn’t care. And Beth – shit. Beth might find something a little admirable about that and–

Rio snorts.

She refuses to believe he can read _all_ that from her, but his face is awfully – knowing.

“You’re a _mess_ ,” he tells her, with a troubling degree of warmth.

His focus dips, blatant, though she’s pretty sure he didn’t mean _only_ literally.

Both of his giant hands come up, entirely assured, clutch at her breasts, and she gasps. His fingers squelch around, and _oh god_ she’s still covered in his come and _why_ did she have to let him redress her over it and no wonder he thinks he can get away with every damn thing and–

Beth almost shuts her eyes, but forces herself to scowl instead. She’s ready for whatever terrible shit he’s about to say.

But he doesn’t speak, not one fucking word.

So she supplies a couple. “Well. Later.” Adds a little wave.

“Yeah,” Rio agrees, not letting go, not making a move. “Night.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from I'll Call Before I Come by Outkast.
> 
> This was born out of an idea I had for how Beth discovered Rio was alive after the s2 finale, but I ran out of time before s2 began (how did that hiatus pass so quickly in the end?? May the next speed even faster!), and I ended up repurposing the idea, which I maintain is medievalraven's fault.


End file.
